Back in May, I told my hair stylist I wanted to grow out
my hair. She said, “You’ve been saying that for three years. This time, I’m
holding you to it.” And she hasn’t been willing to cut it since. Oh, she’s
willing to color it (thank goodness!) but each time I go she says, “Give it one
more month.” She is turning down money in order to help me reach my stupid
goal of having long hair.
How the heck many times am I going to ride this hair
roller coaster? Sort-of long, short, sort-of long, short. To infinity and
beyond?
Yes, I’m aware I can use head bands and bobby pins and
clips and rubber bands and, when really desperate, pens and pencils to keep it
up, but in the perfect image I’ve imagined I want it down and long. Except I
can’t think when it’s actually down and long and in my dadgum face.
If this is my biggest problem today, I am truly blessed.
Off to find a clipper…
(HT: Mel)
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